


To Ashes

by BloodEnvy



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Medicinal Drug Use, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:51:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodEnvy/pseuds/BloodEnvy
Summary: Two weeks after the Avengers lost to Thanos, you volunteer to be the one to find Clint and bring him home.Canon-compliant, slowburn fanfic set primarily within the five years between the snap and Clint returning to New York.NOTE: Major Character Death warning is only pertaining to those that happen in Endgame/Infinity War.





	1. Prologue

** _ Days Since the Decimation: Thirteen _ **

“This is a nightmare.”

“I’ve had better nightmares.”

You watched Steve and Natasha consult the screens in front of them from you place against the wall. Arms folded over your chest, you averted your eyes again after a moment, a sickness settling in the pit of your stomach. The U.S. government had set up a hotline to report those who had… been lost… and Nat had set up a link on one of the computers. The faces of thousands rotated though as they were confirmed by government officials and local police, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it.

You weren’t equipped for this.

You weren’t ready.

You weren’t ready to see someone you knew. A friend… an old coworker… a classmate… one of the Avengers who stood beside you in battle and you had called your family. You’d seen too many gone already.

That sickness in your belly grew.

“Hey.” You started slightly, and the three of you turned as Rhodey entered. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “So, that… thing stopped doing whatever the hell it was doing.”

You followed the others in the lab, arms still wrapped around yourself. You caught the raccoon – Rocket’s – eye as you passed him in the hall, and he had an unopened whiskey bottle pilfered from Tony’s collection in his paw. He had barely come out of the guest room he’d been given since you’d returned to the U.S., but he looked sober – if not a little sleepless – so you jerked your head toward the lab, so he’d know to follow.

Bruce was waiting for you all, eyes on the device in front of him.

“What have we got?” Nat asked.

“Whatever signal it was sending finally crapped out.”

“I thought we bypassed the battery.” Steve said, eyebrow raised.

“We did,” Rhodey assured him. “It’s still plugged in, it just… just stopped.”

Steve exhaled, considering for a moment. “Reboot it, send the signal again.”

“We don’t even know what it is,” Bruce pointed out, meeting Rhodey’s eyes, then yours. Maybe he was hoping for back-up, but you just shrugged. This wasn’t your turf. You weren’t a soldier or a scientist or a spy. Hell, even the talking rodent had more experience with this shit than you. You were just a grad student. A fucking grad student.

“Fury did.” Nat replied. “Just do it, please. And tell me the second you get a signal. I want to know who’s on the other end of that thing.”

Nat turned towards you, intending to leave, and stopped in her tracks.

“Where’s Fury?”

You jumped again as a voice sounded just over your shoulder, and you spun around, stepping back quickly as you found yourself a few inches from a complete stranger. A flicker of psychokinetic energy sparked on your fingertips for a second, and you quashed it, squeezing your hand into a fist. “Christ! Does no one in this building make noise?”

“Who are you?” Steve asked, and you could feel the tension hanging between the other behind you, and you fought the urge to step back among them. God only knew what this woman intended to do.

“Where’s Fury?” she repeated, her tone unchanging.

“Gone.” Nat said unwillingly, and you could hear the tiniest note of pain in her voice.

“What happened?”

“Hey,” you interrupted pointedly. “You got a name to go with that outfit?”

She turned her gaze on you, measuring. “Carol.”

“And that uniform means what exactly?” Bruce piped up from the back of the group.

“Means she’s a Kree.” Rocket supplied, head cocked to the side. “One hell of a paint job you got there.”

“I don’t care if it means she represents the damn lollypop guild,” Rhodey dismissed the question. “How the hell did she… how’d you get in here?”

“What happened here? On this planet?” Carol asked. “_Where’s Nick_?”

You glanced at Steve, and he tightened his jaw slightly, exhaling. “Carol. My name’s Steve Rogers. We should all talk.”

***

“You got any idea where she’s going?” you asked as Steve and Nat rejoined you in the office. You’d opted out of the briefing – you couldn’t handle going over it all again, so you’d instead headed back to the screens, eyes burry and unfocused as you watched face after face rotate over them. “’Cause she sure as hell knows how to make an exit.”

Nat shook her head, taking a seat at the desk, her knees drawn to her chest. “Bruce mentioned Tony and the Parker kid, and she just left.”

You sighed. “We’ve got a talking raccoon living in our lab right now and that still might have been the weirdest interaction I’ve ever had.”

The smallest of smirks touched her lips, and she sighed, eyes on the ceiling. “This whole thing is… surreal. I can’t think of any other word for it.”

“I think it’s beyond words at this point.” Steve added, arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the wall.

You watched Natasha carefully for a minute before speaking, hesitant. “Any word?”

She squeezed her lips together before she shook her head, eyes closed.

You sighed, weighing your thoughts carefully for a long moment before speaking. You voice was quiet, a confession. “I don’t think I can stay here anymore.”

“Y/N—”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You said, with an almost wild shrug by way of gesture. “I… I can’t sit here, looking at all those faces of people I failed—”

“We. Not you.” Steve amended. “This isn’t your fault.”

“—I can’t keep being here, sitting around and pretending that I’m helping with all this. This… I can barely organize a dinner. I can’t do this whole global relief thing.” you said, waving at the screens. “I need to _do _something. Something that I can’t fuck up. Something that won’t hurt anyone else.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Y/N, you haven’t—”

You turned to Nat, imploring. “I’ll find him. Let me find Clint. I can bring him back.”

Nat met your eyes, her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly that you may have imagined it. “How? There was nothing at the farm.”

“I don’t… we’ve got the old SHIELD files. I’ll find something to go on; safehouses or something. You get any clues, you send them my way. I’ll take one of the SUVs; that’ll get me around the Americas at least. If he’s gone international, well, we’ve still got the quinjet.” you ran a hand through your hair, eyes on the both of them. “Please. Let me help.”

Steve and Nat were quiet for a while, but it was Steve who spoke first. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

You gave him a small smile. “Kind of inevitable when you keep trying not to think about something else.”

The two of them shared a look, and Nat gave him an incremental nod. Steve stepped away from the wall. “You’ll call?”

“Cross my heart.” you promised, and Steve wrapped you in a hug. You squeezed him back, tucking your face into his chest for a few seconds. You stepped back, taking a steadying breath. “E-mail me with any news, okay?”

“You’re leaving now?” Nat asked, a tablet in her lap.

“Soon as I get a bag packed.”

“Where’re you going to go?”

You shrugged. “Figured I’d head to the farm. See if there’s anything there we missed the first-time round. Can you send me the files?”

She gestured to the tablet. “Already done.”

“Thanks, ‘Tasha.” you moved to hug her, and she wrapped her arms around your neck. “I promise, I won’t fuck this up. I’ll bring him back.”

“Thank you.”


	2. Home is Where the Heart Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You visit the Barton farm in hopes of figuring out where Clint has gone.

** _ Days Since the Decimation: Fourteen _ **

“_This is Clint Barton. Leave a message.”_

“Right then,” you sighed heavily, unbuckling your seatbelt and leaning over in your seat to fish the keys Natasha had given you out of the glove compartment. You’d heard the outgoing message about eight times since you’d left upstate New York, and while you hadn’t expected an answer, you took it as promising that he hadn’t disconnected it completely. “Here we go.”

Gravel crunched under your boots as you stepped out of the SUV you’d borrowed from the small fleet of cars Tony had provided the team with when he’d opened the upstate Avengers facility. It’d taken you a couple of hours to pack a bag and load the equipment Rhodey and Steve had gathered for you, but you’d still opted to head out that night for the Barton homestead in Missouri. It was almost four in the afternoon by the time you’d arrived, and the cool air of a late spring evening had you zipping up your jacket.

It was disconcerting being there. You hadn’t returned to Clint’s family home since you’d first visited, regrouping with the rest of the team after the incident in Johannesburg. Now, the warm wood of the front porch seemed dull, like the life of it had been snapped away with the rest of them. You paused as you reached the top of the steps, a kind of sickness settling in the pit of your stomach.

Your brow furrowed as your eyes settled on the front door. It was ajar, ever so slightly, as if it hadn’t been pushed hard enough to click closed. You glanced behind you; there was no other car in the drive. Still, you pushed open the door with your foot. “Barton? You here?”

Nothing. You summoned up a flicker of psychokinetic energy around your hand, blue sparks dancing down your fingertips. Just in case. You stepped into the entrance.

“Clint?”

Slipping your phone back out of your pocket with your free hand, you pulled up your contacts without really looking, eyes darting from the living room to the stairs. Your stomach dipped as you took in the shoes lined up by the door. You dialed, holding the phone to your ear. It rang three times before it was picked up on the other end.

“Romanoff.”

“Hey, Nat,” you said quietly, making your way slowly through the bottom floor of the Barton house. “How’s it going?”

“Y/N, that is not why you called.”

“True.”

“You make it to Missouri, okay?”

“Yeah. Caught a few hours sleep in the car somewhere in Ohio, but I’m here now.” you slipped past the dining table. Plans for renovations to the living room were still laid out on the wood. “When you came out here, you locked up after, right?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Someone’s been here.”

“Barton?” her voice was level in a way that only Natasha could maintain.

“I don’t know. Lock wasn’t busted, so my guess it wasn’t looters.”

You paused in the kitchen, opening the fridge. No milk, but the orange juice in the door was beginning to mold. If Clint had been here lately, he hadn’t been eating here. You wrinkled your nose, but after a second, you tucked the phone against your shoulder as you took it out and poured it down the sink. You tossed the bottle in the recycling bin by the back door.

“What are you doing?”

“Recycling,” you said simply, and Nat gave a small, bemused chuckle. She sounded tired. You turned, heading up the stairs. “How’s things there?”

“The same.”

“You get an update from Wakanda yet?”

“Okoye called in this morning.” Nat replied. “With the Wakandan princess gone, it’s taken a little longer to get their emergency response protocols online at a global level. Rhodes has been working with Friday to combine their system with Stark’s crisis network.”

“Tony set up a worldwide emergency system?” you asked. “Where was I?”

“It was after Ultron.”

You swallowed. “Oh.”

“It’s slow going, but we’ll get there.”

You hesitated a moment outside Lila’s bedroom; the door was firmly closed, but the sign hanging on it spelled out her name in bright cheery lettering. There was a paper flower stuck to the corner, and you vaguely remembered seeing Clint fold similar ones during debriefings to keep his hands busy. You exhaled, squaring your shoulders and headed to the master bedroom.

“Any idea where our new mystery friend shot off to?”

Clint and Laura’s bedroom was as untouched as the rest of the house; there was dust settled on the duvet, and a film of it over the dresser. Whoever had been there had either touched nothing, or they’d been gone long enough for the dust to resettle completely.

“Hey, Nat, where did Clint keep his passport?”

“Bedside table. Third drawer.”

“It’s so weird that your memory does that.”

“What?”

“Actually remembers important stuff. Best mine can do is replay theme music from nineties cartoons I don’t know the name of.” you frowned as Nat breathed a quiet laugh into the receiver; Clint’s passport was still tucked in underneath Laura’s. “Here’s another one for you: if Clint had files left over from his SHIELD days, where would he keep them?"

“Not sure, but he tends to go old school. Why, what’re you thinking?”

“I… I’m not sure yet.” you told her distractedly. “He got a home office somewhere on the property?”

“Clint?” Nat almost scoffed. “Hardly.”

“I’ll call you back. I’ve got a hunch to follow up on.”

“Okay.” One of your favorite things about Nat was that she always rolled easily with abrupt changes to conversation. “Talk soon.”

You tucked your phone back into your pocket, biting your lip as you surveyed the room. After a moment you shrugged and opened the closet. You stretched up on your toes to grope blindly along the top shelf. Your hand met cardboard and you smiled, pulling down a storage box. You slung it onto the bed and tossed the lid aside, smiling proudly. “What is it with men and hiding their secret stashes in the closet? Thank god it isn’t his old _Playboy _collection.”

There were old SHIELD files stacked haphazardly together, like they’d been thrown back in without much regard for their organization. You could see a few handwritten notes scrawled on the file folders and flipping open the top one showed a similar treatment in a few margins.

Deciding this was going to take more than a few minutes, you tossed everything back in and replaced the lid, hefting the box up against your hip. You paused on your way out as you noticed Clint’s phone on the dresser; the battery was dead, but you still pocketed it on your way out of the door.

You were careful to lock up the house on your way out, casting your eyes to the barn on your way to the car. You worried your lip as you dropped the box and Clint’s phone on the backseat, sighing as you closed the door with your hip. “Fuck it.”

You strode across the lawn; you’d come all the way out here, you might as well do your due diligence in case the old SHIELD files didn’t pan out the way you hoped they would. The door stuck when you tried to open it, so you threw your shoulder against it.

“Ow.”

Any further complaint you were going to make died on your lips as you took in the scene in front of you. While the house was almost unsettlingly untouched, the barn was trashed.

The tools and half-finished projects from Clint’s work bench had been swept off onto the floor into a pile of metal and broken wood. The toe of your boot met an empty bottle with a clink as you stepped forward, and you bent down to pick it up. Whiskey. Expensive whiskey… it was the bottle of Macallan Tony had gifted to Clint a few Christmases back. The one Clint had declared he wasn’t opening until Lila’s high school graduation.

You straightened, tossing the bottle aside; there were a few more bottles littering the floor, and there was a mattress on the floor in the corner, most likely the one you and Natasha had shared the last time you were here.

And on the floor, half hidden by the tractor was Clint’s bow, string broken and bow bent.


	3. Lead Me to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go through the files you found on Clint's farm, are forced to remember some uncomfortable memories, and find a lead on someone who might be able to help you find him.

** _ Days Since the Decimation: Sixteen _ **

_“Clint, please. I need you to call me back, okay? I’m so sorry, Clint… I’m—”_

_Beep._

You’d leaned forward where you sat cross-legged on the bed, tapping your phone to skip the message as a lump formed in your throat. You’d never heard Natasha sound so vulnerable before, and you weren’t sure you were ready to now. Besides, that message wasn’t meant for you, and it wasn’t going to help you now. There was no need for you to hear this… it felt too much like reading her diary. And you’d suddenly realized that as much as you sometimes felt like an outsider, you weren’t ready to know Nat this intimately.

_“Barton, it’s Steve. I know Nat’s been—”_

_Beep._

You’d been holed up in a room at a cheap motor inn on the outskirts of the town closest to the Barton farm for almost two days. One bed – the one you’d slept in – was a tangle of drawn back blankets and crappy pillows. The other was where you sat now, surrounded by anything you might find helpful. Your laptop was on the bedside table, email open. The box you’d taken from Barton’s was on the floor beside you; half the files were spread out over the comforter as you tried to make some sense, some connection to the Clint then and the Clint you needed to find.

_“Clint—” Beep. _You cut off the message as soon as you heard Nat’s voice. You’d charged his phone and had found a myriad of voicemails and text left behind in the last two weeks. The text messages had proved useless – most of them on the same thread as those you’d heard so far in his voicemail, scattered among a few government alerts attempting to find out who was left after the decimation.

You’d already been brought close to tears listening to them – the message from Laura’s mother, trying to find out where her daughter and grandchildren were had had you reaching for the cheap whiskey in the minibar and dumping half of it into your coke before she’d barely spoken a minute.

A couple of files had already been tossed back in the box, but a few you’d found some potential in. There were scribbles of contact’s names from old jobs for SHIELD, as well as a few unlabeled phone numbers or just some quickly scrawled coordinates. Each note led to a rabbit hole of online research. With most of SHIELD’s database gone with the fall of the organization, you were stuck struggling through back channels. When it came to tech-heads and weapons dealers you could find them in the Stark system, but otherwise, you were struggling. Most covert operatives and informants didn’t have a huge online presence.

Almost all of the notes led to dead ends – some literally, either over the last few years or lost in the snap – but you’d managed to find a few possible leads so far.

_“Hey, Barton.”_

You paused, coffee halfway to your mouth and your other hand hovering over a file.

That was your voice.

You’d completely forgotten you’d called him.

Six days. Six days after the snap of Thano’s fingers you’d called Clint, half-drunk and sleep deprived. You weren’t even completely sure why you had. The two of you weren’t exactly close before all this; he’d never stuck around New York long enough for you to socialize.

***

“Hey, Barton. I don’t know if you’re getting any of these calls…” you mumbled into the phone, curled up on the floor by the window of your room. The rolling lawns of the Avengers facility were lit along pathways in the dark; everyone else had long gone to bed as far as you were aware… there was a chance Rocket or Bruce were still in the lab, but you couldn’t be sure. There was an equal chance Rocket was as drunk as you were, but he tended to get violent or insulting after too many, so you’d avoided him.

You sighed, shaking your head, your forehead pressed against the glass. It was cool against your booze-warmed face, and while your bed was only a few feet away, you couldn’t find the energy to move over to it. “I don’t even know why I’m trying. If you’re not going to pick up for Nat… well, there’s no way you’d call back for me.”

You caught sight of your reflection in the window. There were bags under your eyes, and your hair was a mess on one side from where you’d been almost compulsively running your hand through it. With a groan, you turned away from it, drawing your knees up to your chest and wrapping your free arm around them. You took a steadying breath, but you couldn’t help the lump that formed in your throat, or the way your voice cracked as you spoke again. “I just… I’m drowning her, Clint. I don’t know what to do. But I think… I think I owe you an apology.”

You shook your head, teeth in your bottom lip. “No, I… I know I do. After everything that happened in… in Wakanda… I don’t know how much you’ve heard. But I tried, I really did, but I—”

***

You skipped the message, an uncomfortable pit forming in your stomach. You’d woken up right there on the floor of your suite the next morning, with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. The next hour had you alternating between gulping water and heaving into the toilet. The only one who’d been in worse shape than you that morning was Rocket. It was no wonder you hadn’t remembered the message until now.

Your eyes drifted to the minifridge in the corner. There probably wasn’t enough in there to get you so drunk you’d temporarily forget making that phone call, but you could maybe get a buzz out of all the mini bottles tucked away in there.

Sighing, you shook the thought out of your head. That wasn’t going to help you get through all this, especially not at two in the afternoon.

***

It wasn’t for another few hours – long after you’d worn out his message bank and finished off three cups of coffee – that you’d found something that made you straighten in your seat. Your legs were aching slightly; you’d barely moved out of your cross-legged position on the bed, save for a caffeine refill.

There was a dogeared business card that had been tucked away in a file from a couple of years ago. The wear on the corners suggested it had spent a long while in someone’s wallet before it had been stored away. The rest of the papers in the file were about some agents that had gone missing after the fall of SHIELD; potential double agents carrying state secrets. Clint had been charged with putting teams together tasked with tracking them all down.

You ran your finger over the text on the card; it was for a private investigation firm on West 46th Street, back in New York. Middle of Hell’s Kitchen. It wasn’t embossed, but the card was definitely made of quality cardstock. They weren’t a high society business, but they weren’t amateurs either. It was plain, black font on white card. They didn’t put on airs. Or, maybe they just didn’t give a shit about ‘style’.

Still, they might be a lead. And it didn't just give you the business. It gave you a name.

Alias Investigations.

Jessica Jones.


	4. Alias Investigations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You return to New York, in the hopes that P.I. Jessica Jones can help you track down Clint.
> 
> WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE JESSICA JONES NETFLIX SERIES

** _ Days Since the Decimation: Twenty _ **

The roads were still pretty quiet on your return to New York; after the decimation, the government had restricted travel in the interest of confirming the list of the snapped. Traffic stops had been set up by what remained of local police forces and SHIELD agents around most major cities, but your plates were registered with the latter, so you were able to bypass them with minimal issues.

Your mind returned to the compound repeatedly the entire drive back, your temptation to return there growing as the miles between you and your old teammates shrank. You’d barely been gone a week, but after spending so much time alone and cooped up in that shitty roadside motel, you were… well, lonely. You missed them, even if it was just for the silent, pensive company you’d shared with Natasha after Wakanda.

But each time you thought about driving back through those gates, even for a couple of hours, your stomach would twist and sink. The fact that you hadn’t found Clint yet was resounding. Sure, you hadn’t expected to find him so quickly, but that itch in the back of your mind kept coming back. The one that felt a lot like failure. And you weren’t going to fail the team again; it didn’t matter how much you wanted to see a friendly face.

Still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t check in. Those same SHIELD plates made parking easy despite the Alias Investigations office being in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen, and you found yourself digging you phone out of your pocket to go through your messages as you made your way into the apartment building’s elevator.

You didn’t have much. There was a check-in email from Bruce, and weirdly a voicemail that took three replays to figure out who it was. The message was just Rocket barking the words ‘bring booze back with you’ and abruptly hanging up. You weren’t even sure how he’d gotten your number. There was another you listened to more than once, but not because it was difficult to understand.

Natasha had called.

Tony was back on Earth.

A sigh of relief left you before you’d fully realized what she had told you. Tony was _back. _He was _safe._

You hadn’t really let yourself feel his loss individually yet, not in the way you should have. Tony had been a big part of getting your life back together after Ultron. Wanda’s little trip into your mind had left you struggling to maintain control over your abilities, and when you’d been assigned to protect the core from drones during the final fight, you’d been overwhelmed. The psychokinetic energy had backfired into you, and you’d fainted. You’d been in a coma for almost a week.

It wasn’t until you’d been released by SHIELD’s doctors that you’d been told what had happened afterward. Tony had, almost surprisingly, been the one to pick you up and drive you back to the compound. He’d explained that Ultron had been defeated, that Thor had carried you back to the SHIELD helicarrier and that Wanda had been the one to take up your role in protecting the core.

That had been the first time you’d really come to fear the psychokinetic energy inside you. And with Bruce gone – the only one you trusted that also might understand what you were feeling – you’d come to the decision to leave the team. You’d left New York, gone back to your online classes, gotten a part time job and tried to piece back some semblance of normality.

Tony had supported you in that; he’d even paid for your new place. You’d protested of course, but he’d insisted, calling it payment for putting your life on the line so many times. When Thaddeus Ross had insisted that you return to New York to sign the Accords after Clint and the others had been arrested, Tony explained that neither he or Steve had wanted to put you at risk again and ask you to fight. It hadn’t been until you’d heard that Tony had gone missing that you’d returned to the Avengers compound and rejoined the team on their way to Wakanda.

God, you really hadn’t seen the man you were searching for since Sokovia.

You considered lingering in the hall and calling Nat back, or calling Tony himself, even if it was just to hear his voicemail while he was still under observation. One less uncertainty in your world was like a weight being lifted off your chest. You could suddenly breathe just a tiny bit better.

Your thumb hovered over Tony’s name in your contacts list as you approached the door at the end of the hall, but you stopped yourself from pressing it when you noticed the door was ajar. The lock was broken.

You pocketed your phone; there’d been a rise in break ins and lootings since the snap, and when you heard a noise inside, you drew the gun you carried from the holster at the small of your back. Natasha had taught you how to handle a handgun years ago, and you’d been certified through SHIELD. With your mistrust in your abilities, it seemed safer to walk into an unknown situation with a gun in hand, rather than psychokinesis. Clint’s farm had been one thing, but this was an apartment building. You could do a lot of damage here.

You held the gun low in front of you, pushing the door open slowly with the toe of your boot. On first glance, the sparsely decorated office and apartment seemed empty, and it wasn’t until you reached the kitchen that you found someone.

A slim, dark-haired woman stood with her back to you stood in front of sink, picking up a glass from the draining board. She was dressed in jeans, heavy boots and a tank top, and while she didn’t turn around, she raised her head slightly as you stepped silently into the doorway. “You often come into people’s apartments uninvited?”

You paused. “You’re Jessica Jones?”

She turned around, leaning back against the countertop. Her expression was completely unaffected by the weapon in your hand. If anything, she just looked like she’d just woken up. She raised a brow, frowning. “Since when do you need to use a gun?”

You tucked it back into your holster, a little sheepish. “You know who I am?”

“I watch the news, don’t I?” she shrugged, stepping past you. You followed her down the hall, a little confused. She was certainly taking your appearance in her apartment in stride. She continued, speaking over her shoulder. “You don’t turn up as much as Stark or the flag waver, but you’re pretty much a household name. Didn’t think the Avengers were much for breaking and entering, though.”

She sat behind the desk, motioning for you to sit across from her.

“Technically, just the entering.” you replied. “You know your front door’s broken?”

“More often than not,” she said casually. She kicked her feet up on the desk, pulling an almost-gone bottle of bourbon out of a drawer. She poured herself most of it, tilting the bottle towards you. You shook your head; it didn’t seem worth it to point out it was barely eleven thirty in the morning. Everyone had different coping mechanisms after the snap, who were you to judge?

“Driving.”

She nodded. “You here for a reason?”

“I’m looking for someone.”

Jessica sighed, shaking her head. “Look, everyone’s looking for someone right now. I’m sorry for, whatever loss you’ve got, but I’m not taking new clients.”

“No, that’s not why I’m here.” you assured her, leaning forward in your seat. “You’ve done work with SHIELD before, yes?”

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re recruiting, I’m not interested.”

“I’m not… I don’t work for SHEILD. I’m just… you know Agent Barton, don’t you? You’ve worked with him before.”

She raised a brow.

“Hawkeye?” you tried when she didn’t speak. “Clint Barton?”

She nodded, almost impatiently. “I know who you’re talking about.”

“Have you seen him? In the last few weeks, I mean.”

Jessica finished off the rest of her drink, taking her feet off the desk and setting the glass down in front of her. “I don’t talk about my cases. That’s between me and the clients.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” you said. “I need to find him.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“I’m not asking you to do it for me.” you told her. You realized you were twisting your fingers together in your lap, and you forced yourself to stop. “I’m just asking you to point me in the right direction.”

Jessica leaned back in her seat, studying you for a long few moments, her brow furrowed. She was sizing you up in a way she’d probably done a thousand times; she didn’t trust easily; you could see that. But at the same time, she’d barely blinked when you’d entered her home, armed and uninvited. She reminded you of Natasha, and your guess was she had some kind of similar training or power behind her that meant she wasn’t often afraid for her own safety. Even with a broken lock.

When she finally spoke, it was like she was admitting something she didn’t want to, even when she offered up no information. “I don’t think he’s looking to be found.”

Your memory dredged up the images of the untouched house and the destroyed barn, his broken bow. “I don’t doubt it.”

Jessica was silent again for a while, biting her lip. “You do something for me, and I’ll tell you what I can.”

You raised a brow, surprised. “What do you want?”

“It’s not something I… It’s something I need.” she admitted. “You can access shit even I can’t. Barton said you all would have some kind of list of everyone who’s gone.”

You nodded slowly. “We do… I mean, we have access to the one the government has put together.”

“I need you to run a name, find out if they’re…” she cleared her throat, shaking her hair back over her shoulder. “I need to know if she was dusted or not.”

“Okay…” you pulled your phone out of your pocket, turning it over in your hands. “You know, there’s a hotline you can call if you’re not—”

Jessica closed her eyes and sighed. “She’s in the Raft.”

“Oh.” The government weren’t going to release information about prisoners on the Raft to just anybody, and unfortunately, you weren’t exactly a high-ranking official. “Like I said, I’m not with SHIELD. I don’t have clearance for that information… but I know someone who does. Let me make a call. What’s her name?”

***

“Thanks, Rhodey.” you smiled, phone to your ear. You were leaning against the wall near the front door, one arm folded across your chest. When you’d called him directly, he hadn’t answered, but Bruce had been able to track him down for you. He’d been with Tony, who was apparently still confined to a bed in the medical wing. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it.” he replied jokingly. He sounded slightly distracted as he followed through with your request. “How are you, kid? You coming home?”

You sighed, closing your eyes. “Not yet. How is he?”

“Tony? He’ll be okay. He asked about you.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He’s not too happy you came out of retirement.” you could hear the smile in Rhodey’s voice. Tony Stark was the last person to lecture anyone on taking risks with their own safety. “Think you can expect a word with him when you get back.”

“Yeah, well, you can tell him it doesn’t matter.” you said tiredly, glancing back down towards Jessica’s desk. “It’s not like I was any help, anyway.”

“Y/N—”

“You got anything for me, Rhodes?”

He sighed. “Yeah. What was the name again?”

“Trish… uh, Patricia Walker?” you said, noticing Jessica look up at that.

Rhodey scoffed quietly. You could just barely make out the little ‘ping’ the computer gave as it completed its search. “As in Patsy?”

“How the hell do _you _know who Patsy is, Rhodes?”

“Oh, come on. Kid was a household name. She’s like the original Hannah Montana.”

“Right…”

“What the hell did Patsy do to get herself locked up in – oh, shit. Your girl’s got a pretty impressive rap sheet here, Y/N. And a couple of powers to boot.”

“Well, you don’t usually get into the Raft without them…” you pointed out. The only people you could think of that had made it on there without them were Clint, Scott and Sam. And you were pretty sure that at least two of them could have executed their own prison breaks from any regular state prison. “Does the file say anything about…?”

“Yeah, it does. Patsy’s alive and well, according to the last update. They sent those through a week ago.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Rhodey. I owe you one.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Tell Tony I said hi, okay?”

“I will. Take care of yourself, alright, kid?”

“You too.” You hung up, tucking your phone into your pocket as you made your way back. Jessica straightened in her seat slightly, and you got the feeling she was trying to maintain the stony, disinterested expression on her face. You gave her a soft, reassuring smile. “She’s fine.”

Jessica closed her eyes, her lips tightening slightly, as if to hold back her relief. She nodded after a moment, opening her eyes and leaning forward in her seat. She slid a card across the desk to you. There was a couple of names and addresses scrawled across it. “This is the information I gave your friend.”

You picked it up, reading it once before tucking it into the back pocket of your jeans. “Thanks.”

“You’re not going to have an easy time finding him,” she warned. “They’ll be able to give you the aliases he’s travelling under, but they can’t tell you where he’s going. Or where he’s staying.”

“I know.” you said simply, shrugging. “But it’s a lead.”

She gave you a small, wry smile. “I like you. With that attitude, you probably could have made a pretty decent P.I.”

You smirked, taking one of the cards from her desks, writing your number on the back. “You hear from Clint, maybe give me a call?”

She took it from you with a nod.

“Or if you’re hiring,” you said with a shrug of one shoulder, only half-joking. “I don’t know if I was ever cut out for this whole ‘hero’ thing. Maybe I need to look for another line of work.”

Jessica chuckled. “That’s how I got here.”


	5. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call from an old friend and a chance encounter with another...

** _ Days Since the Decimation: One Hundred and Sixty-Seven _ **

The New York breeze was brisk, sharp against your cheeks and curling under your clothes to cling to your lower back. You shivered, tugging the zipper on your leather jacket higher against the autumn air as you left the subway, scowling briefly as the fastening caught on the navy scarf wrapped around your neck. You sighed, watching your breath cloud in front of you as you turned down a side street.

The cold air of the steadily approaching winter was bringing with it more than just the usual seasonal depression; it had been almost six months since you’d left the compound to track down Clint, and the winter was just reminding you that you still hadn’t found him.

You’d spent the first two months after meeting Jessica Jones tracking down the contacts she had given you, as well as any other names you could find in that box of files. One such name had been a surprise to you – Barney Barton. You’d had no idea Clint had a brother, especially not one with a criminal past. A very difficult to come by phone call to him had proved fruitless however – they hadn’t spoken in years, not since Barney had ‘borrowed’ some money from him before he’d married Laura – and you’d been forced to return to the list Jones had given you.

SHIELD had had files on each of them stored in its database, and four of the six names were also mentioned among the files you’d taken from the farm. Three had been lost in the Decimation and one was in prison, but two were – at least as far as SHIELD knew – still alive and operating.

Jessica had given you addresses, and while you’d still had to do some asking around to find more current listings for them, you’d succeeded in finding them eventually. They both specialized in falsifying documents, and after finally tracking the both of them down, you’d been able to procure a list of alias Clint Barton could be travelling under.

It had cost you a percentage of the considerable stipend you received from Tony Stark’s accounts each month. You’d received a salary as an ‘independent contractor’ from SHIELD after the battle of New York, but once you’d announced your retirement, those payments had stopped. Tony had already been bolstering each of the Avenger’s accounts out of his own pocket, and he’d continued to do so after you’d left.

You’d actually noticed in recent weeks that your monthly allowance had increased since he’d recovered and apparently retired himself. You’d received a call from him a couple of months back, and it had been almost enough to convince you to return to the compound, if only for the chance to say goodbye.

***

He spoke before you said anything, but maybe that was simply because you had to hear his voice before you could really believe that it was him on the other end of the line. You’d known he was back; even without your contact with Natasha and Rhodes, it had been all over the news. For about two weeks, you’d been unable to walk past a newsstand without seeing his face, usually paired with a declaration that he was in fact back on Earth. None of the pictures were current – Steve had no doubt locked down the facility upon his return to allow him time to recover in private. The media had been trying to get an interview with him for as long as he’d been back without success, and the tabloids had of course resorted to making wild speculations as to where he’d been and what had happened to him – something you honestly burned to know yourself. One reporter had approached Nat to ask if he’d been working _with _Thanos – he’d been sent to the hospital with a broken wrist for his trouble.

Still, you couldn’t help that half of you expected it to be someone else on the other end of the line. So, when you heard his warm, familiar voice in your ear, you almost collapsed in relief against the door you’d just closed behind you.

“Hey, kid.”

“Hey, old man.” you replied, an automatic response to the nickname, and you heard him exhale an amused laugh in reply. The beginnings of a small smile and a sigh were on your lips, and you leaned back, your shoulders meeting the door with a soft thump. “Glad someone finally managed to bring you and your ego back down to Earth.”

“Clever,” he said with a small, tired chuckle. “How long did it take you to come up with that one?”

“Surprisingly, not as long as you’d think,” you shrugged, your voice turning to an easy, teasing tone. Talking to him was always simple – a comfortable, joking back and forth. “Was too busy worrying if you were still your irresistible, perfect self.”

“How could you ever doubt it?” he responded, and though he sounded tired, you could hear the smile in his voice.

“I wasn’t actually sure that I’d hear from you,” you admitted. “Thought maybe you’d be too busy working with the others on figuring out the next move.”

“Thanos is dead, Y/N.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “He—what?”

“They found him. Had this idea of using the stones to bring everyone back.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” you asked, self-doubt flooding your mind. “Why haven’t they—”

Tony’s voice sounded hollow. “He’d destroyed them.”

You sank to the floor, drawing your knees up to your chest. When you spoke, you could barely manage more than a murmur. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“H-how?”

“Apparently he used the stones on themselves. Almost killed himself doing it.” he muttered. “Thor just finished the job.”

“Oh…” you pressed your lips together, eyes closed. “Tony, I—”

“Still, I’m hurt, kid.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. His tone was suddenly lighter, although you could tell it was forced in an attempt to change the subject. “What?”

“I was planning on making a house call to check in on you, but it turns out you’re spending all your time here in New York and I haven’t gotten a single visit. Not even a get-well card.”

“How’d you know I was still in town?” you asked. “I’m not exactly big fish when it comes to the tabloids.”

“I was adjusting your stipend; I thought you might need a little more cash now you’re on the move.” he explained casually. “From the online reviews, that place you’re staying at might actually be a literal shithole, Y/N.”

You smirked, casting a glance around your room. It was dingy, the lights buzzed, and you’d bought your own sheets for the bed rather than use the ‘freshly washed’ ones that had been on it when you’d arrived. The ‘hotel’ usually only rented overnight or by the hour, but the clerk had agreed to let you stay as long as you needed and pay a reduced rate by the week. Crime had gone up significantly, and he figured having an Avenger on premises might help keep him – and his money – safe. He’d even allowed you to use his space in the underground parking lot up the street – the luxury SUV you’d taken from the compound wouldn’t last long parked out on the street overnight in this neighborhood. “Well, it sure ain’t the Ritz.”

“Why aren’t you here, Y/N?”

“I figured you’d be the last person to want me hanging around the compound.”

“Oh, I’m furious you’re back on the team,” he agreed, and you couldn’t help but breathe a quiet laugh. “We’re getting to that.”

“No need,” you assured him. “Steve already gave me the ‘are you sure about this’ speech.”

“And now it’s my turn,” he shot back, and you could hear the barest edge of amusement in his voice. “But first I want to know why you haven’t come back to the compound when you’re staying so close.”

You closed your eyes, biting down on your lip. “I can’t, Tone. I… I just can’t.”

He sighed. “I get it, kid. And I know Romanoff appreciates what you’re doing. But you don’t have—”

“I need to do _something, _Tony. I can’t just keep sitting around at the compound and pretending that I’m being helpful there. At least out here I’m… I don’t know. Out of the way.”

“You were out of the way in that cozy little two bedroom I paid for,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, and I probably would have been as much help there as I was in Wakanda,” you replied bitterly.

“Y/N…”

“I couldn’t just sit back anymore, Tony. You were gone; I had no idea where Steve and the others were, and someone had to step up. Someone had to help.”

Tony was silent for a moment before saying wryly, “You practiced that little speech, didn’t you?”

You scoffed, leaning your head back against the door. “Between Steve, Sam _and _Rhodey, I kind of had to explain my decision a lot.”

“Military men.”

“Tell me about it.”

“We just want you safe, Y/N.” he said softly, and you pressed your lips together, closing your eyes again as you exhaled. “What happened with Ultron—”

“I remember why I left, Tony.” you said, shaking your head. Memories of the pain you’d felt rip through your skull before you’d passed out flitted through your mind, and you tightened your jaw against them. “I’m fine. It’s not going to happen again.”

“You still getting headaches?”

“No,” you lied automatically. Whenever you let the psychokinetic energy build up inside you for too long, you would be plagued with migraines and nosebleeds until you released it. You’d fainted more than once in the past because you’d left it unchecked. You’d spent a great deal of your retirement figuring out your limits, projecting energy in shields to take the edge off. You’d all but had it perfected by the time you’d rejoined the others for Wakanda but now…

You raised a hand in front of you, making the gesture that usually summoned a small, glowing disc of energy in front of you. The blue light surrounded your hand for a moment, but when you tried to push it out into a shield, it crackled and died, the sparks jumping up your arm. A small pain throbbed behind your eyes as it did.

“…nothing I can’t handle, anyway. As long as I don’t let the energy build up, it can’t hurt me.”

“And how are you going with that?” he said skeptically, as if he’d seen your attempt at projecting. “Banner told me what happened, Y/N.”

You sighed. “A lot of people got hurt a lot worse than me, Tony.”

He fell silent, and guilt immediately burned through you, rising in your throat like bile. It had been in Natasha’s update – Peter Parker had been lost in the Decimation.

“Tony, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t, kid.” he replied after a pause. “I just… I saw the footage. From when you got back.”

You swallowed. Bruce had forced you to test your abilities again after the incident, and you’d reluctantly agreed to join him in the lab. Impatient and eager to get it over with, you’d attempted to summon a shield big enough to protect the two of you from some imaginary attacker, and the energy had blown you back into a wall.

Every attempt to push the energy out from your arms since then had been in some way unsuccessful – either fizzling out or blowing up in your face. And headaches and the occasional nosebleed were better than endangering those around you.

“Did you want me to cover the damages?” you tried to joke.

He huffed a laugh, and you could picture him shaking his head. “I’d be paying for it anyway.”

“Good point.”

“Y/N—”

“I’ll be fine, Tony. I promise,” you assured him, lightening your tone. “I’ll be back as soon as I track down Barton.”

He was silent again, considering. “Pepper and I won’t be here when you do. We’re leaving – got ourselves a little place a little further upstate.”

“Romantic.”

“And peaceful, with any luck.” he responded. “She deserves it, after all of this.”

You smiled. “You both do.”

“God, you’re cheesy.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Tony laughed, and the sound of it made your entire body warm. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d heard him laugh. “Do me a favor – when you get back, introduce yourself to Smurfette. She could probably use a friend like you.”

“…You know she’s a cartoon character, right?”

“New friend. Nebula,” he explained, amused. “Only one here she knows is your new buddy Rigby, and she’s not the most sociable.”

You smirked, suddenly wishing you’d been there to see Tony come face to face with a talking raccoon. “If you’re talking about Rocket, neither is he.”

“Hence my request.”

“I’ll be sure to say ‘hi’,” you assured him. “…You’re really retiring, huh?”

He exhaled slowly before clearing his throat. “It’s time I stopped playing hero.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re stealing my lines, old man.”

“You had a point, however cheesy it might have been,” he said warmly. “Look after yourself, kid. You need anything, you call.”

“I will, Tony. And thanks.”

***

You hadn’t set out with any particular goal for the night; you were just tired of that dreary little hotel room. You’d set up alerts on the names on Clint’s new passports and IDs with every airline and travel agency in the US, as well as both borders. If he left the country, you’d know it. But until then, you were stuck in limbo, and you had no leads as to where he might be.

So, instead you often spent your nights discovering new parts of the city. Sometimes it was nice; you’d walk until you were hungry, and each night you’d eat somewhere different. A couple of people recognized you, and while some just offered you wan smiles or a nod by way of recognition, once or twice someone took it upon themselves to make a scene and blame you and the rest of the team for their lost loved ones. You’d taken to wearing a hood whenever you left the hotel – it wasn’t much of a disguise, but it usually meant that the only people who got a clear look at you long enough to recognize you as an Avenger were those serving you at a diner or a bodega, and they were usually too tired to make a fuss.

Some nights you found yourself actually enjoying your walks, but others you’d find yourself focusing on every empty building – businesses abandoned after the owner or too many staff and customers had turned to ash. On those nights you’d sleep fitfully, eyes burning and a couple of the painkillers you used for your migraines to help put you to sleep.

You’d been unable to sleep even with painkillers this time, so it was almost two in the morning when you’d finally given up on it and left your hotel room. The streets were mostly empty, so you were the only one caught out when it suddenly began to rain. It came on quickly, soaking you in the few short minutes it took you to double back towards a bar you’d just passed. You hurried inside, earning a couple of irritated glares from the patrons closest to you as a gust of wind followed you before you could close the door.

You grimaced sheepishly at them, shaking off some of the rain and shivering at the sudden change of temperature. The place was a familiar and welcome blend of dingy and cozy – a dive bar that relied on its regulars rather than rowdy customers on a night out. Which was probably how it managed to stay open – a lot of clubs and high end bars had closed down since the snap, but a lot of holes in the wall like this one were still a very welcoming escape to those wanting to forget about their troubles for a little while.

Any other attention your entrance might have garnered – say from the bartender you were approaching – was lost. You’d walked into what was steadily looking to become a bar fight. One that the bartender was watching with wary eyes, like he couldn’t decide whether it was worth breaking up or not.

Three men were standing around another sitting on a stool, and from their body language, it didn’t seem like they were excited to see him. All three were slurring their words, and while you couldn’t see the man they were talking to, his body blocked by one of theirs, you saw him reach for his drink, apparently unbothered by the attention.

“—whole world’s in danger and you don’t even get off your ass?”

Confused, you stepped forward, but when the man with his back to you shifted to the side, you froze. The man they were berating…

It was Clint.

He was hunched forward, elbows on the bar and a glass of what looked like whiskey in his hand. His hair was a mess, and his jaw was dusted with a few days of stubble. He looked as though he’d lost some weight, his cheeks a little hollow, but it had honestly been so long since you’d last seen him you weren’t sure if this was a recent change.

Still, it was him.

You’d found him. Completely by chance.

It was almost laughable.

“What?” one of the men harassing him continued. From his tone and the way Clint’s eyes didn’t waver from the space in front of him, you were sure he’d been trying to get a rise out of Clint for a while, desperate for a reason to take a swing. You’d met more than one person who’d taken a violent approach to blaming the team – another reason you carried your gun whenever you went on one of these late-night walks. Even though you didn’t like guns, your shields were less than reliable, and you were still licensed to carry. Flashing a gun tended to work as a deterrent when necessary. “Too busy with your bitch wife t—”

Clint was on his feet so fast you all reacted instinctively. 

The man goading him stumbled back, and you rushed forward, grabbing hold of Clint’s wrist as he raised a fist. You barely managed to stop him from swinging.

“Get off of—” Clint’s voice was gruff, annoyed, and he turned to shake off your grip. But the moment he met your eyes, his expression dropped. “—me.”

And in that second, you suddenly wanted nothing more than to leave.

Even after six months of searching, something inside you screamed for you to turn, to leave and to run out into that rain and never look back.

Because no matter what you’d been feeling in the last six months, it was nothing compared to what you could see in Clint’s eyes now. Even with the glaze of too many drinks in his gaze, you could see every emotion he felt as your presence there settled onto his mind and into his reality. Recognition, fury, confusion, pain, heartbreak… fear.

The men who’d been hassling him had backed away, and you only then realized there was a knife clutched in his fist. You didn’t spare them, or the bartender a glance; it was taking so much of you just to meet Clint’s eye. You offered him a small, awkward smile you didn’t really feel.

“Hi, Clint.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right! Five chapters in and Clint has finally made an appearance!
> 
> I'm sorry for cutting it there, but I'm kind of a sucker for a cliffhanger. The next chapter will be up as soon as possible (uni's back and I have other stories to write, so I'll try to do one one-shot between each chapter), and I promise it will be filled with angsty Clint.
> 
> Please, please, please leave a kudos or, even better, a comment and let me know what you think!


	6. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've finally found Clint, but it's not exactly a happy reunion, so... what now?

** _ Days Since the Decimation: One Hundred and Sixty-Seven _ **

“Hi, Clint.”

He stared at you for a few long minutes, locked in the moment by your gaze and his own surprise, your fingers still wrapped almost too tightly around his wrist. You couldn’t help the unsteadiness in your voice as you said his name, fueled by uncertainty and the shock of suddenly seeing him again.

You hadn’t pictured it like this.

Hell, you hadn’t pictured it at all. Even after all this time, after almost six months of trying to track him down, you hadn’t felt any closer to seeing him again. and you’d always thought you’d have some time to figure it out, decide what you were going to say. A drive to an airport or to the border, or an hours-long flight to some distant country… hours then to figure out what you were going to say to him. You didn’t ever for a moment think that you’d find him in a dingy hole-in-the-wall bar a mere six subway stops away from where you were staying. It was… unfathomable.

And you knew, you’d always figured he wouldn’t be excited to see you, or maybe even angry… but this shocked, almost fearful, silence… it wasn’t something you’d expected.

“Y/N?” he finally found his voice, and it came out hoarse, rough. “Wh—?”

Clint pulled his arm from your grip, taking a step back. He stumbled as he did so, his foot catching on his vacated stool. He struggled to catch himself, his hand finding purchase on the bar. He almost dropped the knife as he did so, and you took a wary step forward, almost as if you were worried you would spook him. You finally took your eyes off his, reaching up to gently ease the knife – a switchblade, you now noticed – out of his grip. You set it down on the counter carefully, and you heard the bartender breathe a soft sigh of relief. You cast him a concerned glance. “How long has he been here?”

The bartender shrugged awkwardly. “He was here when I started my shift.”

“Shit,” you muttered, pressing your lips together as you turned your options over in your mind. Considering the shadow that had fallen over Clint’s face, you found it hard to believe that he hadn’t either left or demanded that you do yet. You looked back at the window behind you; the rain had already eased up considerably, and honestly, it was probably worth getting wet to get out of this atmosphere. The guys who’d been harassing him were watching you both with contempt, and you were sure that by now they’d recognized you as an Avenger as well. You sighed, turning back to Clint. “You got somewhere you’re staying?”

He shrugged a shoulder.

“Okay… then you can stay at mine. C’mon. We can talk in the morning.”

After a long moment, he nodded reluctantly and moved to join you. As you turned to walk out with him, you noticed the one of the men move out of the corner of your eye. He darted forward, eyes on the switchblade.

“Hey.” He hesitated as you spoke, and you opened your jacket just enough for him to see the holster at your side. “I wouldn’t.”

***

“The bed’s over there. You can take it; I’m not tired.” you told him as you closed the door behind you, turning the lock and sliding the chain into place. Clint had been silent your entire journey back to your hotel, but then, you hadn’t done much in the way of starting a conversation either. He’d sat across the aisle from you on the subway, slumped back in his seat and gaze cast to the floor. You might have thought for a moment that he’d fallen asleep, if it weren’t for the tension in his arms and the way his fists were balled tightly in his lap.

When he did speak, there was a slight slurring to his words, matched by the unevenness of his gait. Remnants of the alcohol still in his system. He all but almost dropped onto the bed, sitting on the end of it. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He rubbed his hands over his face tiredly, a heavy sigh escaping him.

“So, how long ‘til she gets here?”

Your brow furrowed, and you leaned back against the wall, hands tucked behind your back. The brick was cool against your palms, and the cold still clinging to you with the rain drying on your clothes and in your hair made you shiver. “Who?”

“’Tasha.”

“She’s not,” you replied, shaking your head. “Coming, I mean. I haven’t spoken to her.”

“But you will.”

You shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not doing anything until we’ve talked. Tomorrow.”

His head rose, and he finally looked at you again. You weren’t sure he’d done that since you’d left the bar. You felt small under his gaze, and you swallowed, moving to turn on the radiator. When you glanced back at him, you could see the look he was giving you was measuring, and he continued to study you until you’d straightened and moved to the kitchenette to plug your phone into its charger.

“The couch’ll be fine,” you said dismissively. “Seriously, you look like you could use the bed more than me.”

Again, he didn’t say anything; he simply nodded, toeing off his boots. You dithered as he made himself comfortable, turning your back to give him some semblance of privacy in a one-room hotel suite. You busied yourself with the few things you’d left in the sink over the last couple of days – mostly coffee-stained mugs. You ran the water too hot, hoping that the scalding temperature would chase away the chill still clinging to your spine. All it did was send a shiver through you and burn your hands.

You scrubbed away at the same mug until you felt the water turn cold and you were sure you’d begun to remove the logo from the porcelain. You barely noticed; you were lulled by the sound of Clint’ breathing as it evened out into a slower, steadier rhythm. It wasn’t until you heard him groan that you finally snapped out of your stupor, setting the mug on the draining board and pulling the plug out of the sink. You wiped your hands on a slightly ragged towel as you turned around, tossing it onto the counter without looking.

Instead, you leaned back against the countertop, watching Clint pensively as he turned over in bed. After all the time you’d spent alone… you weren’t used to the sound of another person anymore. You weren’t used to having anyone in your personal space. It was… kind of nice.

You crossed the room to the front door, switching off the lights. The room immediately fell to pitch, and you ran a hand through your hair uncertainly.

“Barton?”

You spoke up quietly – your whisper still too loud in the dark – uncertain if he was actually asleep or not. When he didn’t answer, you sighed, sitting down there on the floor. You folded your legs comfortably underneath yourself, your back resting against the wood of the door. You closed your eyes, a sigh leaving you as you let the back of your head meet the door.

“It’s good to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be filled with dialogue and angsty clint in a more talkative state of being, I promise.
> 
> Please send a comment or a kudos, they mean the world to me :) Thanks for reading!


	7. Cold Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers, an overly-friendly waitress and awkward conversations with a man you haven’t seen in years. What could possibly go wrong?

** _ Days Since the Decimation: One Hundred and Sixty-Seven _ **

“Y/N?”

You felt yourself pulled out of sleep suddenly, a hand on your shoulder. You reacted instinctively as your eyes shot open, your arms jerking up in front of you to summon a shield. The energy jumped through your arms, a familiar warmth following it and burning its way through your nerves. The sensation was almost painful, like rubber bands snapping under your skin. You felt the energy gather in your hands for a split second before it rebounded back into you, jarring up your arms like a shock of electricity. “Ah!”

You cursed under your breath as the jolt made your elbow meet the wood of the door frame behind you, and you rubbed at it with a grimace. Clint had released you and stepped back as soon as you’d reacted; he’d seen you knock someone across the room with a shield before. He held his hands up placatingly.

His hair was sleep mussed and he looked exhausted; his eyes were still bloodshot from the night before. The stubble on his chin looked more pronounced, and under the cheap fluorescents his face looked even more gaunt than it had the night before. He really hadn’t been taking care of himself; even exhausted and blurry-eyed, you could see that.

“Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blinked hard, eyes adjusting slowly to the harsh lighting about you. “Wh—?”

“It’s almost eleven a.m.” he told you, moving back to sit on the end of the bed as he had the night before. It was still a mess of twisted blankets, and his boots were still in a haphazard pile on the floor, so you guessed he’d only just woken up himself. The bleary look in his eyes suggested the same thing. “And you said something about breakfast.”

You couldn’t help but groan as you tried to stretch the newly formed kink out of your lower back. Your backside was numb, and you ignored the urge to rub some feeling back into it. You moved to the tiny wardrobe in the corner of the room, pulling out first shirt you touched. You spoke through a yawn. “No, I didn’t.”

Clint echoed the yawn, rubbing a hand through his hair tiredly. The action only mussed it up further; it was longer than you’d every seen it, unkempt and unruly. “No, you didn’t. But you mention talking, and I’m not sitting through that without coffee. Real coffee, not the instant shit you’ve got here.”

“Charming,” you muttered snidely, ducking into the cramped en-suite to change your shirt. You’d slept in yesterday’s clothes, but you’d showered before you’d gone out, so while you didn’t smell, the old shirt felt uncomfortably and clingy against your skin. You quickly ran a brush through your hair, wincing as it caught on a tangle. “Since when do you have a problem with instant coffee?”

He didn’t answer, and you weren’t sure if he didn’t hear you or if he was simply ignoring you. You sprayed yourself with deodorant before tossing the can to him. “Here.”

Clint caught it without looking up, and a tiny part of you thrilled for a second before crumbling into disappointment. In the early days of the Avengers, a little victory like that – catching a bottle of water or some gadget tossed to him on the quinjet after a mission – would have had him crowing about it to the rest of the team. Each time he did he’d earn himself a snarky comment from Natasha or Tony, and you had always rolled your eyes in amusement at their antics. It was always a nice reprieve after a fight, a dose of normality… of almost domesticity among friends. You hadn’t really realized how much you loved and missed those little moments until right now.

You opened your mouth as you leaned against the doorway, tempted to make a joke in an attempt to ease some of the tension in the room. You bit your tongue however, unbuckling your holster and leaving it on the sink.

“There’s a diner around the corner,” you said, shrugging on your jacket. You’d fallen asleep with your boots still on, o you tucked your phone, wallet and keys into your pocket before opening the front door. “Their coffee isn’t exactly gourmet, but it’s better than instant. C’mon. I’m buying.”

.***

“Alrighty, are we reader to ord—oh, okay…?”

The waitress stopped mid-sentence, taken aback. She was a woman in her late forties with cheaply dyed red hair in need of a touch-up and matching nail varnish, and her nametag read ‘Lorraine’. There was a touch of humor in her confused expression as Clint took hold of the coffee cup she’d just filled for you and slid it across the tabletop to sit beside his own. He didn’t look up as he did, ignoring the both of you as he busied himself with the creamer.

“I, uh… I can get you another…?”

“It’s okay,” you told her with a wave of your hand. You offered her a slightly awkward smile, fiddling with the corner of your menu. If anything, you were a little relieved to have a distraction from the silence that had been stretching between you and Clint since you’d left the hotel. “Can I get a tea, please?”

She smiled toothily down at you, pen and order book in hand. “Sure thing, honey. Anything to eat?”

You glanced across the table to Clint, and he just nodded into his coffee, huddled into the cheap vinyl of the booth. After a few moments of you both waiting for him to elaborate, he simply mumbled. “Bacon.”

You rolled your eyes despite yourself, turning back to Lorraine. “I’ll just get toast, please. And he’ll have… well, bacon. And whatever usually comes with it, I guess.”

She offered you a wink. “Two hangover cures, coming right up.”

“Thanks,” you replied. You didn’t see the point in telling her that you hadn’t had anything to drink last night. Hell, you might as well have been; you weren’t exactly well rested after a night on the floor, and your stomach was swirling with nerves. You watched Clint finish off the first cup, wincing slightly as it burned his throat. “And, uh… maybe put on another pot of coffee?”

Her smile widened as she turned to head back behind the counter and hand your order off to the kitchen. “You got it, hon.”

The silence that followed her departure was nauseating, pulling on your nerves. You swallowed slowly before finally speaking again, offering up a half-hearted attempt at brevity. “So… I’d ask how you’ve been, but everyone seems to have the same answer to that these days.”

Clint set his coffee cup down on its saucer almost too carefully, as if considering what he was about to say. Even with the noise of the kitchen and the other customers, you found yourself focusing on the sound of the cheap ceramic meeting the plate. He exhaled slowly though his nose before replying. “You’ve been looking for me.”

You nodded back at him incrementally, unsure of his tone. It wasn’t exactly accusatory, or even questioning. It was just… aware. Knowing. “I—I have.”

“Why you?” he asked, and you could see that the effects of his hangover were starting to lessen. He was slowly coming back to himself, but there was a standoffishness, a coldness, to his demeanor that served as a jarring reminder of your time apart and everything that had happened to the both of you since you’d last seen him.

Maybe… maybe the two of you weren’t really friends anymore.

Maybe you hadn’t ever been. Maybe you were just… people who used to work together.

“We haven’t exactly kept in touch.”

You almost laughed at the understatement; it was so painfully close to your own thoughts. And he was right; when you’d woken up from your coma, most of the team had returned to their own private lives. It had been understandable; they’d had no clue when you’d wake up, and they had their own injuries and exhaustion to recover from.

Still, for the most part, they were still together. While Clint and Thor had returned to their homes and Bruce had effectively dropped off the face of the earth, most of the team, including the newly initiated members of the Avengers, had moved into the newly renovated compound upstate. Only Tony had still been living in Manhattan, but he’d been travelling back and forth to oversee the remaining construction. He’d even been in the process of renovating a medical center on site so you could be moved out of the SHIELD hospital before you’d woken up.

But Clint… you hadn’t seen or heard from him at all since Sokovia. But then, hell, he’d retired too. And you hadn’t exactly reached out either.

“Your tea, honey.” Lorraine set the cup down in front of you, and you bit down hard on the inside of your lip as she refilled Clint’s first coffee cup. You tasted blood as you did, and Lorraine smiled down at Clint indulgently. “You sure can put them away, huh, sweetness? You must have had a wild night.”

You ignored the surreptitious wink she sent you at that. Clint shrugged a shoulder. “Something like that.”

“Well, you let me know if you need to switch to decaf. We wouldn’t want you gettin’ a case of the jitters now.”

He grunted by way of response, and you waited for her to leave again before you answered him.

“You were gone before I woke up,” you jibed lightly, hoping again for an easier conversation between the two of you. You had been on edge since you’d found him again, and the tension was doing nothing to ease your unsettled stomach. You stirred sugar into your tea slowly, watching it swirl in the cup. “And you’re not exactly on social media.”

“Yeah, well, I had to…” Clint’s jaw tightened, his voice thickening. “I had to get home.”

You stopped, that sick feeling in the middle of your belly growing. Honestly, you felt like you were going to throw up. You fought back the urge to reach across the table to touch your hand to his. “Clint, I’m so sor—”

“Y/N.” his hand tightened on the coffee cup in front of him, his eyes squeezing shut. His knuckles whitened with his grip, and there was a waver in his voice that near broke your heart. “Please don’t.”

You nodded dumbly, your eyes burning. You lowered your gaze to the tabletop, blinking hard to push back the sudden tears blurring your vision. You could feel your bottom lip shaking, and you brought your tea to your mouth to hide it. Swallowing a burning sip was almost painful, forcing the liquid past the lump in your throat.

Clint cleared his throat, straightening in his seat slightly. “So, why you? Why are you here?”

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself as you set your tea back on the table carefully. “I—I volunteered.”

“Why?”

You shrugged a shoulder before admitting quietly: “I just… I just wanted to help.”

Clint spoke over the lip of his coffee cup, his elbow propped on the table and an eyebrow cocked. “You’re not exactly trained.”

“I know… I just…” your hand shook slightly as you moved to pick up your tea, but you abandoned it as soon as you heard the cup rattle against the saucer, jerking your hand back to your lap. “Natasha misses you.”

Clint swallowed, his voice coming out quieter, huskier. A note above a relieved, hopeful whisper. “So, Tasha’s okay?”

“Y-yeah, she’s… she’s okay. She’s—”

“Here we go!” Lorraine announced herself by dropping a plate of toast in front of you, and you gave her a tight-lipped smile in response. Her cheeriness was almost cloying, and Clint all but ignored her, shaking his head when she asked if either of you needed anything else. You took another tentative sip of your tea to help settle your nerves as she left once more.

“She’s been calling you, Clint.” you continued, picking at the butter packets on the side of your plate. “Steve, too. I know you… you left your phone at the farm, but I—”

“You’ve been to my house?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t touch anything.” you assured him quickly. “Well, I mean, I… I threw out some old juice, and I found some of the files in the closet and that’s how I found Jessica Jones and, I—”

“You went through my things?”

“I—Natasha gave me a key to your place, and I—”

Clint shook his head, a nerve ticking along his jaw. You had no fucking right, Y/N.”

You nodded, teeth digging into your bottom lip. “I-I-I know, and I… I didn’t…” your voice broke as you answered, and you closed your eyes, exhaling shakily. “I’m sorry. I just… I just wanted to help. But I didn’t touch anything that belonged to-to Laura or the kids, so I—”

You jumped as Clint’s fist met the table the crockery clattering on the table. “Don’t!”

“I-I’m sorry, Clint!” you repeated helplessly, almost desperately, nearly choking on the tears lodged in your throat. You felt tears stinging in your eyes again as all the stress of the last twenty-four hours finally hit you. You struggled to control your breathing, each inhale coming to you in a sob. “I just… Nat seemed so… I just wanted to _help._”

“Yeah, well, good work kid.” he replied sarcastically, shaking his head in bitter disbelief. He stood, barely sparing you another glance before storming past you. You squeezed your eyes shut against the tears and you jumped again as you heard the door slam behind him.

You shook your head as you tried to calm yourself, your chest heaving with another sob.

“You okay, honey?” Lorraine reappeared at your side, and you nodded hastily, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your sleeve.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s fine,” you lied, digging a few bills out of your wallet and tossing them on the table. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

You stood, pushing past her before she could say anything else and ignoring the looks you got from the other patrons as you followed after Clint. Cold wind slammed into you as you left the building, freezing on your face and clinging to the tears staining your cheeks. You wrapped your arms around yourself tightly against it, folding them against your chest as if it would hold you together and stop you from falling apart.

You’d fucked it up.

You’d failed. Again.

You’d failed Clint, you’d failed Natasha, you’d failed Steve, and Tony, and every single person on the goddamn planet. Half the planet gone, half the _universe, _and the only thing you could think of to help was to bring one friend back to another, and you’d fucked that up too.

You stopped in the mouth of an alleyway, leaning back against the wall. Sobs were wracking through you; each breath made more painful by the frigid air. You slid down the wall until you were sitting, heedless of the way the rough bricks scraped against your jacket and your back, and drew your legs back up to your chest. You never should have left your fucking apartment.

You buried your head in your arms, ignoring the way the cold air burned at your skin and caught in your hair. You’d been holding in all the stress and depression of the last six months inside for so long you couldn’t stop it now, and you found yourself unable to calm down again until your voice was hoarse and the tears were drying and itching against your cheeks. Still, you didn’t move, ignoring the smell of the nearby dumpster and the ache in your joints.

“You know, in any other town you might be making a scene.”

Your head jerked up from where it was buried in your arms, surprised. Clint was standing over you, his expression still simmering with anger. But you could still see the slightest touch of pity and exasperation in his eyes, and you wiped hastily at your own with both hands.

He glanced out to the rest of the street almost casually as he continued, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “But here in New York, it’s like you’re just part of the scenery.”

“Wh-what are you doing here?” you asked embarrassed by the unsteady wavering in your voice.

He shrugged a shoulder, still avoiding your gaze. “Why were you sleeping on the floor, Y/N?”

“I—what?”

He didn’t speak, nor did he look at you as you struggled to find the words for a moment, caught off guard by the question. Sighing, you wet your lips with your tongue nervously before admitting: “I, uh… I didn’t want you to leave before we got the chance to talk. I mean, the windows are like, bolted shut, and there’s bars on them anyway. So, I figured the only way out of the room was… was the door, and, and you wouldn’t be able to get through it without waking me up, so I—”

You shrugged a shoulder awkwardly, gaze falling to your wringing hands. “I just… I didn’t want you to disappear again.”

Clint huffed a short laugh, shaking his head and turning his eyes to the sky for a moment. He exhaled a drawn-out breath, moving to sit beside you, groaning as he did. His shoulder bumped against yours, and he stared straight ahead as he spoke. “That’s actually pretty smart.”

“Why…why haven’t you gone back to the compound?” you asked hesitantly, wrapping your arms around your knees again.

He sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“I know it’s hard, but Nat—”

“They didn’t call me.” he said quietly, his voice rough. “I could have—they should have called.”

“They didn’t call me either,” you told him softly. “I just saw that Tony had gone missing on the news. They’re not big on pulling people out of retirement.”

“They’ve done it before.”

“Not for me, they haven’t.” you pointed out. “You don’t think I would’ve liked a say in the Accords?”

“That wasn’t my call.”

“I know, and it wasn’t my call when it came to the fight in Wakanda.”

Clint groaned, his lips pressing together in a hard line. “So. You saw him. Thanos.”

Fear rose in your chest; you weren’t ready to talk about this. “I did. Even Wanda couldn’t stop him.”

“I could have…” he let his head fall back against the wall, ignoring the pain that must have flared in the back of his skull. “…fuck.”

_ Helped. _

“I know. But it wasn’t my call.”

The two of you fell silent for a while, and you swore you could taste blood again.

“I think… the last time Steve pulled you out of the retirement, you got sent to the Raft. Maybe they just didn’t want to jeopardize your… maybe there wasn’t time.”

Clint was quiet for a long moment. “But Natasha’s okay? Really?”

“She’s alive.”

“Wanda?”

“…gone.” you said quietly, turning your head to look at him. His fist was clenched so hard you could see the veins in the back of his hand, his knuckles white. “You haven’t checked the registry?”

He shook his head, rubbing a hand through his hair. “You gotta register yourself first. Didn’t want to be on the records.”

“Why not?” When he didn’t answer, you spoke again, curious. “You pulled a knife last night, Clint.”

“Yeah.”

“You were drunk.”

“Yeah.”

“There were three of the them, Clint. And I know they weren’t exactly an Avengers-level threat, but still. Are you looking to get yourself killed?”

The edge of his mouth curled derisively. “Looking to get them killed, actually.”

His words gave you pause; there was no sarcasm. No teasing to his tone. “Clint?”

He cleared his throat, pushing himself up to stand. “It stinks here. I don’t know what they’re throwing into that dumpster but it’s definitely rancid. I might not have had a lot of that breakfast, but if I have to sit here much longer, I’m gonna throw it back up.” He held out his hand, and you took it after a moment, letting him pull you off the ground. “C’mon. We’ll talk back at the hotel.”

You spoke again as he started down the street, hurrying to fall into step beside him. “Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you come back?”

Again, silence. He didn’t speak again until you turned the corner. “It’s good to see you, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I haven't proofread, so please let me know if there are any mistakes. As always, I'd love to hear what you think! :)


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